Heavy In Your Arms
by Meganlovesjb
Summary: "When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you." Katniss x Haymitch. Takes place in the time between their return to district 12 at the end of mocking jay, before Peeta returns, right before the epilogue.
1. Part One

Heavy in Your Arms

Pairing: Katniss x Haymitch.

Takes place in the time between their return to district 12 at the end of mocking jay, before Peeta returns, right before the epilogue.

Part One

When Haymitch was chosen to escort me back to District Twelve, I could tell he wasn't too thrilled about the idea. He applied the term mentor loosely; never bothering to so much as make sure I was alive. I spent my days contemplating suicide and staring into the destitute emptiness of my home, but I knew well enough he was probably doing the same with a bottle, or four.

I never expected the storm that night to affect me the way it did. The loud crashing thunder startled me and left me shivering with each eruption. Loud noises, like the one from the explosion that took my sister and changed my life, had become my fiercest trigger. Katniss Everdeen: the girl on fire, afraid of loud noises. For the first time in weeks, I almost laughed at the thought. Almost.

The lightning illuminated the dark room, lit only by the endless fire at its core. I pulled a blanket around me and closed my eyes tightly, breathing slowly and trying to calm myself. I thought about the last time I'd ate or showered and realized that I was about due for both, but couldn't find the momentum to move. Greasy Sae had been coming less often these past weeks. She'd seen me become more and more self-sufficient, and truthfully was trying to put her own life back together; she didn't have time to be worrying about me. I was becoming nothing but a burden, but I couldn't begin to care.

Selfish, manipulative, pathetic.

No wonder Gale was never coming back.

A crash of thunder broke my thoughts. It was so loud I found myself letting out an involuntary scream, tucking my head against my knees as I waited for the rumbling to stop, the vibrations that were shaking me to my core. I bit my lip to silence myself, drawing blood with the force. I fisted the blanket I was clinging to, rocking softly on the couch. How had I gotten to this place? I'd lost Gale, my mother, Prim. I'd heard nothing of Peeta since leaving the capitol; quite sure he'd opted to a life away from here, from me. And I'd lost the one dependable man I'd ever known long ago in the mines not far enough away.

I was alone. So completely alone in the world.

I hugged myself closer, shoving Buttercup aside and contemplating the easiest way to end his ugly obnoxious life when I heard a soft rap on the front door.

I ignored it. I never answered the phone and wasn't about to start with the door. I waited in silence for them to retreat. Greasy Sae perhaps, or an old village friend coming to check up.

I did not turn my head when the door opened regardless, because there was only one person that would bother barging in wanted or not. The one person who never gave one shit. Haymitch.

He shut the door quietly behind him, stepping inside tentatively.

"Katniss," he spoke softly, his words slurred slightly, but I could sense his effort to sober up in his tone. I did not answer him. He stepped around to my place on the sofa, eyeing me. "I heard you screaming," he said pointedly.

"Sorry," I breathed dismissively. A long silence fell between us. When I finally dared a glance up at my mentor, the most prominent presence was the slight pity in his eyes as he took in the sight of me. I eyed him back. He looked just as disheveled as normal, perhaps even a little more so than usual. The smell of liquor radiated off of him as it always had, almost comforting in its familiarity.

He sat down next to me quietly. "The storm?" He asked.

I nodded, pulling my knees closer to my torso. "We all have our triggers," he whispered.

"Why do you care?" I snapped. "I haven't even seen you in weeks." I was always defensive with Haymitch, and we were always butting heads. But, we understood each other well enough by this point to know how to take it.

He scoffed. "My front door isn't locked either, Sweetheart."

I faltered, seeing his logic. Selfish.

"We're not so different after all," he added gently.

"You're _my_ mentor, Haymitch. Not the other way around."

"I'm not your father, Katniss. You're an adult now, and I'll not babysit you. How little do you think I care? I've checked on you some nights; found you passed out, sleeping most of the day away. I know you're alive and I don't know what the hell else to do for you," he admitted. "I don't know what else to do," and as he glanced at me side long, his eyes narrowing, I saw the truth in his words.

I backed off.

There was a long resolved silence between us. At last Haymitch stood.

"We could both use a drink," he asserted. "Shower and come on over. Might as well be miserable together," he nodded curtly before leaving.

As much as I hated following Haymitch's orders, the shower was necessary, and the company didn't sound bad. Neither did the drink.

I let myself into his home not twenty minutes later, barely bothering to brush my hair out or let it dry. There was no one here I needed to impress and we both knew it. Haymitch had taken the liberty of a shower as well, his straight blonde hair falling in his face as he shook it out. He came to join me in his disoriented living room that was so much a reflection of the man who inhabited it. He wore flannel pajama pants and a simple white v neck. I had to admit, for all the time I'd spent with the man, it was not his style. I was so used to the expensive clothing, even if it was always in disarray. He was a mess, but a classy mess. It was unfamiliar seeing him so relaxed, nice even.

I almost made a sarcastic remark, but let the moment pass. Haymitch was letting his guard down around me. I wouldn't make light of that. He'd spent his whole life pushing people away from him.

"You smell better," he remarked, grabbing two relatively clean glasses and his bottle of liquor and instantly making me regret my decision.

"So do you."

"I do what I can." He handed me a full glass and I took a long sip. I barely noticed the taste anymore. The burn of the alcohol was nothing to the pain I lived with every day. I finished half the glass before letting it rest in my hands.

Haymitch eyed me over his drink with calculation but said nothing. An awkward moment passed between us. "I'm not usually one to carry a conversation, Sweetheart. Talk to me," he encouraged.

I had nothing to say.

He let out a sigh. "Ask me a question, whatever you'd like," he said softly. This was his way of letting me know he was there for me, but I had no inclination to reach out.

Out of some sadistic need to make him feel as broken as I did in that moment I decided on "What was your girl like?" I took a long drink as I turned my head, watching his reaction to my choice topic.

He paled, his jaw tightened in response, and his eyes narrowed slightly at me.

"You're the one that wanted to talk," I countered. Haymitch gave me a long look, his expression distant. He took a drink.

"Beautiful," he managed through gritted teeth.

I was snarky as hell and I couldn't help it. Bitterness had consumed me. My pain had turned to anger tonight. Not at Haymitch, but at the world. At the fact that I wasn't dead. But he was here, and he was paying for it.

"Men," I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I finished my drink.

His eyes narrowed curiously.

"That's the only thing you remember about her, the first think you say. She was beautiful."

I was starting to truly piss him off, a feat that was never easy. We bickered, but rarely were really able to get under each other's skin. I was succeeding and this pleased me. Sadistic.

"Watch it, Katniss," he warned.

"What are you going to do, Haymitch? You're not my father remember." I was acting like a child and I damn well knew it.

"I'm the only thing you've got right now," he answered coolly, his temper falling slightly. And how true his words were, how deeply they stung. He _was_ the only person I had. Like I needed a reminder. Hurt flashed across my eyes. Well played, sir. We knew which buttons to press in each other, and we knew them well.

"Her laugh," he said after a moment, glancing into his empty glass. "The deep blue of her eyes," he paused. "The night we spent together when I returned from the games…and the last thing she said to me," he almost whispered. "That's what I remember best, Sweetheart," he answered, filling both of our glasses once more.

I was left speechless and feeling like an asshole.

"I'm sorry," I whispered solemnly. Never before had I apologized to Haymitch twice in one night, but it was a well-deserved apology. My anger simmered slightly, as the sadness began to return. I wondered what I would remember about the people I once loved twenty years from now. 18 and already destitute. The realization crushed me. I suppose I had 2 years on Haymitch.

He didn't respond, mulling over his thoughts. I hesitated. "You were young, wealthy, handsome," I spoke softly, searching his hardened gaze. "You could have had anyone you wanted," I searched his expression. "Why choose solitude?"

"I wasn't that handsome, Sweetheart."

"I saw your games," I countered. He smirked, if only slightly.

He was silent for a long moment, his face darker and wiser than I'd seen it in a long time.

"I would venture to guess the same reason as you," he mused. His hair fell in his eyes as he leaned forward on his elbows in contemplation.

"It's a lonely life," I whispered. The effects of the liquor were taking hold; my thoughts were clearer and jumbled at the same time, but everything was simpler. I understood Haymitch's attraction to this feeling, this numbness.

He nodded. "The less people you love, the less people you hurt," he then gestured to himself. "And the less you hurt in the end."

I took a large gulp of my newly filled glass. "How do you deal with it all?" I asked desperately, blinking back the burning beneath my eyes. Mockingjay's don't cry. But I'm not a Mockingjay any longer, haven't been for what feels like an eternity.

He raised his glass and nodded pointedly towards his drink.

"Besides that."

"Don't think about it."

"Not that simple," I shook my head.

He nodded. I took another drink. "In case you haven't noticed, Sweetheart, I don't deal very well."

His eyes found my fragile form. "Slow down. You're on the fast track to becoming me. And wouldn't that be a shame."

I took another drink pointedly. We sat in silence for a long moment.

"You are my mentor," I added sarcastically.

"Hell of an example I've set."

"I'm not a child, you said it yourself. I know what I'm doing."

"That you aren't. Not anymore," his eyes flickered with something I could quite distinguish and I let the comment slide.

"Washroom," I said suddenly, standing with a slight sway and making my way carefully down the hall. I only allowed myself a moment's glance in the mirror. Just long enough to take in the hollowness of my expression, the mess of my tangled hair, how thin and sunken my face had become. I sighed, turning away when I couldn't take it anymore.

As I found my way back to Haymitch's living room, he watched me with a look I could not distinguish, his leg crossed in front of him, drink in hand. In my drunken stupor, I bumped his chair stumbling back to the couch, and his drink sloped on his shirt.

Haymitch groaned as he swatted at the dark liquor on his white clothing. It soaked through quickly and I remembered the first time Peeta made Haymitch spill his drink before first games. A shot of pain ripped through me.

"Christ, Katniss," he growled, standing up and bunching his shirt in agitation, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. He sauntered over to the kitchen and grabbed a rag, wiping himself down. For the first time in my life, I took in his naked torso. Haymitch has seen me naked so many times that it was uncomfortable and unfair all at once. The games left no room for modesty. However, I was shocked by the defined muscle of his arms and torso as he cleaned himself up. He'd kept in mild shape despite his habits, and his body still held the form of its former glory.

I found myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat as I averted my eyes, trying not to noticeably stare. He was old. Yes. But, for a middle aged man, I realized that Haymitch was actually handsome. His hair fell in his face with his movements, soft with the lack of grease from his recent shower. His defined jaw tightened in agitation as he tossed the cloth into the sink.

"Katniss, no one handles their liquor like I do, but slow down," he warned. "You're not even going to know where you are if you keep at it," he grumbled, taking a seat lazily across from me again, reclining in only his black slacks.

"That's the point," I murmured. The fact that I'd barely eaten in days didn't help the stirring within me as the liquor took its effect. I feel my face redden as I told myself to keep my eyes on his face. He either didn't notice my discomfort or pretended not to.

The mood of the room had shifted, and I could not define or understand it. Haymitch stared at me with calculation, and I reached for the bottle to cope with his piercing gaze.

"Katniss," he warned, in his listen-to-your-mentor tone. "Just relax for a minute."

Defiantly, I poured myself another glass. Just let me forget.

He groaned, standing to snatch the bottle from my hand. "I'm not cleaning up after you when you're throwing up all over my bathroom, Sweetheart," he sniped in his familiar drawl.

"I have a better stomach than that, you of all people should know how much I can handle," I stared back. He paused, nodding in resolve.

"That I do know," said the man who watched my life fall apart and crumble beneath me since the moment of the reaping. The man who'd kept me alive and pulled me from the arena twice, who'd witness me flourish, and witnessed me breakdown. It's almost a shame he had to be the one to watch me deteriorate as well.

I stood with purpose, crossing the short distance between us. Haymitch eyed me over his glass curiously. I stopped just in front of him and reached for the bottle he still held. He smirked, gripping it firmly and lurching it backwards. My head spun as I fell forward onto him, pulled down by my grip on the bottle. My hand fell onto his bare chest, and without thought or hesitation, he moved to catch me, steadying me in his lap as his weathered gaze glanced up and caught mine. He managed to safely set the bottle on the floor, not without spilling some on the both of us, and return his attention to making sure I didn't fall backwards to the floor.

For a moment, we were still. I made no attempt to move, and Haymitch made no attempt to push me off of him. The sensation of being this close to someone again was something I had long missed. I'd been so lonely that I forgot what the warmth of another person felt like.

His hand gripped my waist to steady me, and I felt it graze the bare exposed skin there. His touch was gentle and soft, even comforting and for a moment. Until I remembered the roughness of the charred skin he was touching, the burnt and mangled flesh that covered much of my body, and I cringed at the thought of him coming in contact with the monstrosity of it. Embarrassed, I tugged my shirt down. Haymitch's gaze followed my movements, and his eyes narrowed, his brows creasing.

I blushed again, and Haymitch cleared his throat, swallowing hard. "Perhaps we've both had enough," he suggested, pushing the bottle further away. "Let's get you cleaned up and I'll take you home," he suggested gently, a softness overcoming him I was not quite used to. I nodded, and let him help me stand.

I could feel myself sobering as I followed him down the hall. He threw me a wet rag from the bathroom and I tried to get the liquor out of my shirt to no avail. He tossed me a button up shirt from his closet and said it was the best he could do.

I changed in the bathroom and took off my pants, also stained, before buttoning up the shirt. It fit like a dress. I tugged it down as low as I could on my legs, feeling the soft purple material.

"Haymitch, are you sure about this shirt? It's one of your nice ones," I called.

"Do I look like I give a shit, Sweetheart? Give me a minute and I'll take you home," he hollered from his room.

I made my way back to the couch, curling up on it as I waited for him. For the first time, I realized how exhausted I was and closed my eyes. I tucked myself tightly into a ball and the alcohol took over. Before I was conscious of the fact, I was in a peaceful slumber on Haymitch Abernathy's couch in nothing but my underwear and one of his shirts, looking like a disheveled mess. But, I was no stranger to compromising positions.

* * *

**This is part one of…I have no idea. However many it ends up taking for me to feel satisfied. **

**So, Woody Harrelson did this horrible thing in the Hunger Games movie, where he pulled off a hot Haymitch and started my brain rolling. There was no stopping it. Honestly I think no one could have portrayed him better. **

**This chapter is just kind of getting into the swing of things and getting a feel for their situation. **

**I don't really know what else to say about it, but if you're uncomfortable with the pairing don't read it.**

**Age is just a number, and I personally think these two characters understand each other on a deeper level than Peeta and Gale could ever have known Katniss, they have so much in common. **

**Anyways, let me know what you thought? **

**-Meg**


	2. Part Two

Part Two

I woke from the most restful sleep I'd experienced in months to a nightmare of situations. I found myself half naked on my mentor's couch. Wearing his clothing. To make matters worse, he was already awake, sitting across from me in nothing but the pants from last night he'd presumably passed out in, chowing down on a piece of toast and drinking coffee that I knew wasn't just coffee because I could smell if from where I was laying. I wondered how he did it day in and day out, how he was even still alive.

He glanced at me in amusement, but said nothing as I tugged his shirt back into place. I noticed he'd taken the liberty of covering me with a blanket, but I was a restless sleeper, and it was fair to say there was very little of me that wasn't showing as I lay tangled on the couch.

I groaned, squinting around the room, wondering how in the hell Haymitch had woken before me. The position of the sun gave away my answer—late afternoon. He wasn't one for bad hangovers with his drinking experience. My body on the other hand was not used to such abuse, at least not of this kind.

Haymitch chuckled at my pained and disheveled expression and I glared at him. "Good morning, Sunshine," he chimed, biting into his toast with satisfaction.

"I must have fallen asleep," I grumbled, my voice hoarse and quiet. "Sorry." Presumably he chose to let me sleep as opposed to taking me home.

"Oh, no need to apologize, Sweetheart. I haven't woken up to a view like this in years," he chuckled quietly into his coffee. I narrowed my eyes further, tugging at his shirt again.

"I'll bet you haven't." I sat up slowly.

"Coffee?" He offered.

I hesitated. "I'll get it," I stood carefully, making my way into his cluttered kitchen. Last thing I needed was him adding something.

His gaze followed me and I was far too aware of how short his shirt was on my long legs. I was also consciously aware of the burn marks showing and cringed at the thought. I really needed to get home and put some clothes on.

The door opened, and I jumped with a start, as Greasy Sae bustled in unannounced and huffed into the entrance way. My eyes widened and I shot a panicked look at Haymitch, who looked perfectly at ease, and if possible, even more amused than before.

I took a mental note of our situation, both of us half naked and hungover, Haymitch's sarcastic smirk lighting up the room. He looked far too satisfied. My heart skipped a beat and I nearly dropped my mug.

"Katniss Everdeen," she piped in a disapproved and scandalous tone. "I come to make sure you've got food in the house and you're not there for the first time in weeks," she scowls, setting down a large paper bag filled with a few grocery basics like bread and milk that I suspect have taken her all morning to come by. "You scared me half to death," she scowled. "I come over here to ask Haymitch if he knows where you are…to find," she eyed me with distain "this." She shook her head, reminding me too much of a scolding grandmother that I never knew.

"I—" I frantically tried to explain myself to no avail. "It's…not what it looks like…" I offered, shooting Haymitch a desperate plea for help, but he merely sat there, finishing his toast and chuckling silently to himself. I wanted nothing more than to strangle the smug bastard.

"I find that rather hard to believe," she asserted, narrowing her eyes, and shooting Haymitch a look that should have terrified even him.

"Sae," I breathed, stepping towards her desperately.

She shook her head, raising her hand to stop me. "He's twice your age girl. I don't know what you're doing with this drunk, but I suggest you stop it," she motioned towards the bag of food she'd brought for me and I frowned, realizing she really did care and was trying in so many ways to keep me safe. For what reason, I did not know.

I glanced at Haymitch, who looked slightly wounded, but before I could fully register whether I'd imagined the emotion or not, he had retrained his face to amused and set down his plate on the table.

He looked for a moment like he might say something, but instead grabbed his mug and plate and moved towards the kitchen. Greasy Sae huffed and left without another word, slamming the door in disgust.

Haymitch tossed his dishes in the sink on top of all the others and turned to me, leaning against the counter chuckling. My eyes fell briefly on his biceps before I stormed over and shoved him back into the countertop.

"What the hell was that, Haymitch?" I hollered.

He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "What? I didn't say anything."

"Exactly!" I cried. "She thinks we're sleeping together, and by this afternoon, the whole village is going to think I'm a tramp," I scoffed.

"Sweetheart, right now this whole district consists of about fifteen people, none of which hadn't already come to that conclusion when you entered the quarter quell pregnant."

My face burned with embarrassment and fury. I narrowed my eyes with hurt, before turning away from him promptly and grabbing my stained clothes from the bathroom. I bunched them in my arms furiously. Arrogant prick.

He groaned quietly. "Katniss, wait, I didn't mean—"

I whipped my head, shooting hum a cutting glare and effectively cutting him off. I reached for the door knob and slammed it behind me as I made the shameful and short trek back home.

* * *

I felt like dirt as I trudged through the house, pulling on a pair of stretchy pants and a t-shirt. I realized I'd left the food Greasy Sae has brought me at Haymitch's but I wasn't going back for it. Hell, Haymitch could have it. I wasn't the slightest bit hungry.

I hesitated as I made my way slowly down the hallway from my room. I passed my mother's room without so much as turning my head towards it. I felt her absence in my loneliness, but we'd never been close. It didn't pain me to pass the way the following bedroom did. I'd never had the strength to penetrate it, but something about this moment felt right. Ready.

I paused outside the door. The undisturbed solitude of the room surrounded me, daring me to disturb it. I took a slow and steady breath, wondering what I was doing to myself and what had possessed me to such masochism as I turned the nob slowly, gently pushing the door open as to not disrupt the ghosts of the room.

The light shone through the thin curtains in an almost angelic way, illuminating the peace of the space. I moved carefully. I glanced around at the neat way Prim had kept her room, so excited to have a place of her own in this new home. Home—the word felt wrong.

A jacket lay tossed across a chair in the corner. I moved to it, my heart squeezing with unbearable pain at the mere familiar site of it. How tiny it was, this jacket, this life. She'd barely lived. Prim, my little sister, with such potential, talent and beauty. She'd never fall in love, never become a doctor. She'd never known anything but war and hardship. She never knew freedom. The smell of the room filled my senses and I nearly choked on its familiarity. It was comforting yet nauseating at the same time. This smell belonged to a dead girl. My sister.

My breath caught and I collapsed to the floor. For the second time in two days, I found myself with tear filled eyes, only this time, I did not fight to suppress the pain. There was no one here I had to be strong for any longer. I could let go. I could let myself grieve. But even the thought felt wrong. Weak.

As I sobbed quietly into my hand, I realized there was no one here to ease my pain. Not my mother as she did when I was a child, before the mining accident that took my other strength, my father, changed her irrevocably. Not Gale. Not Peeta whose arms had kept me whole so many times. Not even my baby sister who was wise beyond her years. Buttercup wasn't even anywhere to be found.

I pulled my knees to my chest and heaved into myself. I do not know how long I stayed like that as I tried to face the reality that my sister was dead. Despite every one of my best efforts to save her, despite taking her place in a death match two years ago, I had failed. But I don't think that's a reality one ever truly comes to understand.

After what felt like hours, my tears slowed and I could no longer suppress the urge to immerse myself in what was left of Prim. I crawled up onto her half made bed and pulled a pillow close, breathing in the flowery scent I knew so well. I lay there, staring into the growing darkness of the room for what seemed like an eternity.

I repeated everything I knew about myself in my head. My name was Katniss Everdeen. I was now 18 years old. I was manipulative, selfish and alone. I was the district slut. I'd singlehandedly caused the destruction of everyone around me. As I lay there loathing and pitying myself, I added pathetic to the list.

I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

The darkness consumed me, but I did not sleep, too wrapped up in my own darkness. So lost in myself that I didn't even hear the front door open or the soft footsteps climb the stairs tentatively. I only saw Haymitch at the last minute as he hesitantly stepped into the doorway. I jumped at the sudden sight of him, startled that I'd allowed myself to be so vulnerable. Surviving two times in an arena had not left me with a lack of awareness.

"It's okay," Haymitch said quickly in a soothing tone, one gentler than I'd ever known as he glanced down at me.

I relaxed slightly, not bothering to hide the fact that my eyes were puffy and bloodshot. "Katniss," he breathed. "What are you doing?" He asked painfully.

I stared at him distantly in silence. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Listen," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."

Though one of Haymitch's apologizes was even rarer than one of mine, I didn't have the will to respond. I wished he would leave; he was ruining the peace of prim's memory.

He glanced around, his eyes calculating and creased with concern as he realized where we were. His hand reached out to graze a pink jewelry box and I stiffened.

"D-don't," I called. He halted. "Please, don't touch it," I choked, my voice breaking on my words. "It's hers," I sobbed, my tears giving way again.

Haymitch turned, wincing in my direction. "Katniss, let's get you out of here and put you to bed," he offered gently. "You can't keep doing this to yourself," he breathed, stepping forward cautiously. I stiffened, but when he came to sit gently on the edge of the bed I relaxed and nodded, realizing it was time to leave. Something about his presence, his understanding tone, cleared my thoughts. I bunched Prim's pillow in my arms, inhaling deeply one last time as I felt Haymitch's strong arms encase me.

He lifted me, and I suddenly felt like a child. I'd never felt more helpless and little than in this moment. I'd never let myself. If Haymitch had tried this a year ago I'd have broken free of his grasp kicking and screaming. But there was something in the fragile way he held me as I sobbed and curled against his chest that made us both positive that would not be the case tonight. I simply had no fight left. I had nothing left.

He glanced down at me with concern, his light hair falling in his face as he shut prim's door with care before starting down the hall to my room. I tensed in his arms and he hesitated, feeling my resistance. "Please," I sobbed. "I can't sleep here. I can't be here," I choked, sniffling. It was too stifling. I couldn't breathe in this place. Haymitch hesitated before nodding and saying nothing else.

I wrapped my arms firmly around his neck for support as he carried me gently down the stairs and towards his home. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, feeling the strong collar bones and inhaling the even stronger scent of liquor that soothed me in a way I couldn't comprehend. Familiar. Safe.

Haymitch carried me without effort or complaint gently and protectively into his home. He did not stop at the couch I had occupied the night before, but walked down the hallway and straight into his bedroom. My sobs quieted as I glanced around. This was one place I'd never been and never anticipated ending up. It resembled the rest of the house, but something in the décor reflected more of his person style. It was hard to describe and even harder to analyze through tear filled eyes.

Haymitch said nothing as he threw back the surprisingly clean sheets and laid me lightly down on his bed. I glanced at him in confusion and protest, but he simple shook his head, his eyes filled with despair and concern. He covered me up, brushing the damp hair out of my face as his gaze pierced into mine. It was a gesture my father used to make. I winced.

"Christ, you scare me Katniss," he whispered roughly. I frowned, watching as he grabbed one of the spare pillows beside me and shot me one last fleeting look before turning. I realized too late that he was going to be the one that slept on the couch. Before I could protest, he shut the door gently behind him and left me to my thoughts.

Alone in Haymitch's bed, the mental exhaustion I'd been battling began to take control. As I lay entangled in his sheets and his scent, and the comfort and presence of this man, I felt safe. Turns out, nothing calms the mind like comfort and safety, and soon enough I had succumbed to my need for sleep and let go of my grasp on despair for the evening. For the second night in a row, I was sleeping peacefully in his home.

I didn't question the gentleman inside of him that night, but caught a small glimpse of something not as hopelessly lost as I'd once believed. The man before the games. The man with complexity and depth. The man behind the bottle.

* * *

**Thanks for all the positive response to the first chapter! Thoughts?**

**also, I have twitter if anyone is interested. my personal one is meganlynnxo, it's fairly boring. my writing twitter is jbdemi71. i usually comment on what i'm writing and when i will be writing or updating it. just thought i'd share. **

**-Megan**


	3. Part Three

Part Three

When I woke, I took five minutes to hide in shame before emerging from Haymitch's bedroom. I was surprised when the scent of cooked meat wafted through the house as I slowly walked towards the living room.

Haymitch glanced at me over his shoulder from the adjoining kitchen. I almost gasped when I saw him standing over a pan with a spatula. He was…cooking. I came to an abrupt halt, watching him.

"Sit down," he ordered, eyeing me up. "You're going to eat."

I did as he said and reluctantly took a place at the small kitchen table. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't care," he said simply, tossing a pile of meat and potatoes chopped like home fries onto a plate. I wasn't sure what kind of meat it was, probably something Sae had brought, but it smelled good.

I knew we were equally matched in stubbornness, and the scent of real food had awakened something subdued within me. So when Haymitch set the plate in front of me, I ate. He dished the rest onto his own plate, poured us both a glass of milk and took a seat across from me.

"Milk?" I asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. Where was the alcohol? He glanced up at me from over his plate.

"Even I have limitations," he responded, taking a bite of his food. I soon understood what he meant, glancing outside and realizing it was still early morning, somewhere between eight and nine o'clock. The fact that he was up, let alone making me breakfast…that he could cook at all, left me wide eyed.

"Why are you even awake?" I pressed. He had never been the early riser I was.

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep very well."

I frowned, glancing sidelong as the blanket and pillow on the sofa. I put my fork down. "Because you had to sleep on the couch?"

He shook his head, following my gaze. "No, Katniss. I just don't sleep well," he assured me. I nodded. None of us did. I recalled the nightmares I'd been plagued with nightly until the last two days.

I glanced down at my plate, picking my fork back up and taking a large bite, savoring the taste. "This is actually…good. I didn't know you could cook," I pushed gently, realizing he had lived alone for over twenty years and had been forced to care for himself, even if he did so as minimally as possible.

Haymitch almost scowled. "What is this, the third degree?"

I smiled lightly into my milk at his defensiveness. The man didn't take a compliment well. We were alike in that sense. "I just…thank you," I offered.

He nodded stiffly, glancing at me with tired eyes. I could see the concern he carried, how heavy he had become. How heavy I had made him.

My jaw tightened. I glanced down at the table as I searched for the words that needed to be said. "Thank you for last night as well…I was…well I—" couldn't find the words. "Thank you," I repeated.

He nodded, holding my gaze. "Eat," he encouraged. "You're wasting away." I couldn't believe the way he was trying to care for me, to keep me alive. I almost said more but let the moment alone.

Silence fell as we finished our meal and I collected our plates. "I'll wash them," I offered, scraping the leftovers on the lawn outside the back door for buttercup to find. Haymitch hesitated but nodded. I then remembered the pile of plates already built up in the sink and regretted my decision.

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, moving to poor himself a real drink. I guess his limitations ended somewhere around ten o clock.

"I'm going to try and lay down again for a bit. Stay, go, do as you please," he waved dismissively, finishing the glass in two quick gulps before pouring another. My eyebrows creased with concern as I watched him. I presumed knocking himself out was one of the only ways he could sleep, and my judgment of his alcoholism wavered vastly. We all had our vices.

I nodded, removing the large pile of dishes and setting them on the counter so I could fill the sink. It took me about an hour to muddle through all the dishes and put them away. I wiped down the counter, and realized the kitchen was substantially cleaner. Almost normal.

I wasn't one for domestic work, but I had to commend my efforts, as well as set some kind of health standard. I wondered through the house aimlessly, taking a seat on the couch. The days were long when they weren't filled with murder or war. I picked up a book that was sitting on an end table, presumably one Haymitch had been reading to occupy his days. He kept his brain sharp if nothing else. The man was one of the most brilliant I'd known. His cunning and intellect were the only reason Peeta and I were still alive.

I flipped through it and felt my own eyes growing tired. I had always been an early riser, always full of energy. I'd spent entire days hunting and never felt the pull of exhaustion. But something about my body was so heavy these days. I felt the will to do little and sleep was an unparalleled escape from reality.

Without thought, I stood and slowly walked down the hall. Haymitch's door was open a crack and I pushed it further, stepping inside quietly. The room was dimmed substantially by the closed curtains, a red glow filling it as the sun shone through the ruby fabric. I watched him sleeping, his chest moving in a deep slumber, his empty glass on the night stand beside his bed. The day was particularly warm and he had shed his shirt, sprawled out on the large bed in just his pants. I was quickly learning it was how he preferred to sleep, just as I favored a large t-shirt.

My eyes scanned his form, and I swallowed hard stepping closer. A foreign feeling pitted in my stomach, but I suppressed it. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I crawled into bed beside him, tugging the covers up towards me and hugging them tightly. I watched for any sign that Haymitch might wake, but he remained as still as ever. He looked so peaceful, so free of all of the pain he often carried with him—so soft. I breathed in his scent again, instantly feeling content and safe. The warmth of his body, so close to mine left me with an almost elated sense of companionship. My loneliness was absorbed by his presence. Being this close to someone again, especially to a man, was an indescribable feeling of peace. I closed my eyes contently, opening them every so often to glance at him as I drifted back into an equally deep slumber.

When I woke, I squinted slightly against the afternoon sun, and as my eyes adjusted to the changing light of the room I saw Haymitch lying on his back, one arm behind his head, calmly staring at me.

I blinked fast, brushing the hair from my face as I gazed back.

"What were you doing?" He asked simply turning his head towards the window.

I hesitated, not sure myself. "I didn't want to be alone." I answered.

He said nothing, his body slightly tense. "I…I shouldn't have—," I fumbled, realizing in my refreshed mental state how inappropriate my actions might have been.

"You were still tired?" He asked softly.

I nodded into the pillow. "I'm always tired these days." My mother had once told me it was a sign of depression. I pushed the thought away.

"Katniss," He whispered, turning to face me once more. "We need to," he paused, choosing his words with care, "be more careful."

I looked at him quizzically. "We weren't doing anything wrong."

His forehead creased with tension. "I was just kidding with you yesterday, trying to get you to laugh about everything," he spoke gently. "But truthfully, I don't want people talking about you like they are," he admitted, his jaw tight. "You don't deserve it, especially when I know how far those rumors are from the truth," I blushed. "Us in bed together, whether people can see it or not, isn't helping anyone."

"It's certainly helping you uphold your reputation," I joked, trying to make light of the topic.

He shot me an unamused look.

"I don't care." I continued honestly.

"You should."

A moment of silence fell between us.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I said with finality, sitting up.

He grabbed my arm gently, his eyes boring into mine. "You didn't upset me."

I gave him a halfhearted smile. "It was inappropriate. It won't happen again." I stood to leave.

"Sweetheart," he called. I stopped. "I like having you around."

I smiled without turning. "The feeling is mutual."

* * *

Spending time at Haymitch's house was easy. There were no haunting memories that followed me through every room. Prim's bedroom didn't greet me on the way to my own. The smell of roses that I never could rid myself of did not hover in the air, and the ghosts of my lost family and broken past did not follow me here. It was like a sanctuary. A dysfunctional home. Possibly the truest one I'd ever known, and I spent almost every night on his couch.

One night after I'd found the energy to go out hunting for the day, Haymitch and I sat at the kitchen table, winding down with a game of cards. He poured us both a drink with my unspoken promise to take things slow this time as he dealt us each a hand.

"Poker. You know how to play?" He asked, glancing over his deck as he organized it strategically.

I shook my head. Isn't this game like extinct? I asked before taking a slow sip of my drink. Haymitch chuckled. "It's from the old times, before Panam. But there are a few of us who still know it, passed down through the generations," He took a drink himself. "You sure know how to make a man feel old, Sweetheart," he smirked.

I laughed, an actual laugh. "Teach me," I encouraged. "It's your job after all."

His smirk grew. "Now you play the mentor card. If you actually listen to a thing I say, it'll be the first time."

I smiled. "So what's the objective?"

He glanced at the cards with a satisfied expression. "It's a game of lying, cheating and manipulation," he leaned back in his chair slightly, getting comfortable. "I'm usually pretty good at it."

"Then I should be too," I added, taking a drink. He glanced up at me but said nothing.

"Number one rule: don't let your poker face waver. I'm better at reading people than I let on," he warned before giving me a rundown of the rest of the general rules. I nodded along, picking up the tactics and secrecy of it easily.

Haymitch went easy on me the first round, I could tell, but he did not let me win. He wasn't the type. Going easy on someone when they while teaching them was not his style, his mentorship had proven it. Tough love was his steadfast method.

"Can I ask you something?" I prodded as he dealt our second hand and refilled our glasses.

He gave me a look. "Why you always have to ruin a good time with your questions, Sweetheart?" I realized his attitude would pair well with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, but tobacco hadn't been seen in years and was almost a myth.

"Only way to get you to talk is when you're in a good mood."

He chuckled. "That's the truth with most men," his eyes flickered in a slightly devious manner.

"You have too many questions," he added after a minute, playing his hand. I said nothing, calmly continuing the game.

"Alright, what do you wanna know?" He indulged, shooting me a calculating gaze. I could see his mind reeling.

I shifted uncomfortably. "What they did to Finnick," I said at last. I could feel him tense. "The capitol…what they forced him to do, I mean," I spoke softly, taking a drink before finishing. "I never understood…I mean Snow hated me. Why did they never try and force Peeta and me into it?"

Haymitch's expression was unreadable. "What makes you think you were desirable enough?"

I blushed, not having considered the possibility.

"Kidding," Haymitch said abruptly, but there was no amusement in his voice. His jaw was tight, his pose rigid. "They did try, Katniss. They wanted you bad. Peeta too, but especially the girl on fire," his gaze met mine steadily as he revealed the hard truth.

I blinked. "The offers snow was getting for your virginity were outrageous," he admitted. My face burned even brighter at the presumptions made about me…that I was as pure and innocent as Peeta had once suggested.

Haymitch's face grew grave. "As your mentor, it would have been my responsibility to coach you, so the headstrong girl from district 12 didn't disappoint or cause too much trouble," I felt all the color drain from my face.

"By coach you mean…"

"Whatever it took."

I swallowed hard, and for a second I wondered whether he'd told me the truth when he said they'd never chosen him for these purposes.

"How did you stop them?" I asked at last, my voice barely audible. Haymitch took a long drink. I followed suit.

"What makes you think I had any say in it?"

I met his unwavering gaze. His eyes flickered with curiosity. "How did you know it would be me?"

"I just did."

His expression grew cold. "I played every card I had," he admitted. "Pulled every string I had a grasp on, and held them off just long enough for them to throw you back in the arena," he scoffed. A hint of failure crossed his expression.

"Why?" I asked incredulously. Why would he risk everything just to make me an exception to a rule that almost every other victors had become a victim of?

"Because, Katniss. No one should be put through that," his expression was hard, fierce even. "And despite my better judgment, I can't help giving a shit about the two of you."

I couldn't suppress my smile. "Awe, Haymitch," I chimed. "I give a few shits about you too."

He tried to suppress his smirk, the small smile that played on the corner of his lips, but I caught it despite his best efforts.

"Thank you," I added seriously. "For every tribute you trained and watched slaughtered in the last twenty five years… giving a shit means a lot."

He shook his head, "yeah, yeah." I smiled to myself. "Deal. It's your turn."

We played for the next few hours and I learned a few new tricks, but nothing could stop me from succumbing to Haymitch's strategies and years of experience over and over again. We drank, and drank and I allowed the familiar numbness to creep up on me. I allowed myself to get to the place where I was loser, freer, and a little bit giggly, and then I knew to slow down.

A little numbness wasn't so bad. A little numbness was just right.

I glanced up after losing again. "It must be the middle of the night," I whispered in slightly buzzed astonishment.

Haymitch nodded. Sometimes I loved that he was a man of few words, and sometimes it drove me mad. I sighed at him, finishing my glass swiftly and setting it down with care before standing.

"Haymitch," I addressed him, making my way to the other side of the table where he sat, glancing at me carefully. "Tell me what you're thinking." I demanded. "What are you thinking right now?"

He chuckled darkly, pushing his chair back from the table slightly to face me. He gazed at me in silence. "Let me in your head," I pouted, leaning on the table in front of him.

"You don't want in here, Sweetheart. It's a dark and dangerous place."

I stuck my bottom lip out until it protruded just enough to look cute, and without conscious thought, climbed onto his lap sitting backwards on the chair. For a moment, he looked startled, but instinctively and immediately reached out to grab my waist, steadying me once again.

His breath caught beneath me, his eyes darkening as he held me carefully and protectively. But he did not shove me off. I rested a hand on his chest gently for support and I could feel his heart hammering beneath me.

"I was thinking," his voice was hoarse, breath ragged, tone almost pained, "that boy of yours was right about something," he breathed, his breath hot on my face. "You have no idea, the effect you can have."

I reached forward, unable to stop myself from running my fingers through the stubble of his jaw as I took in his words. His eyes closed at the sensation, his expression pained as he reached up and gently but firmly caught my wrist.

"Katniss," he breathed, a warning in his tone.

I inched closer to him still, feeling his body beneath mine as I shifted in his lap. Haymitch groaned softly, his hand slipping lower on my back.

I leaned forward, our foreheads touching, as many long moments passed between us.

"Katniss," he repeated at last.

"Mmm?"

"It's time for bed," he said firmly.

"Why?" I protested meekly.

"Please," he rasped, his body physically stiffening, his expression tormented. "Before I do something we're both going to regret," he whispered in a pleading tone, his gaze torn as it caught mine.

"I'd not regret it," I breathed, running my hand down his chest slowly, feeling what lay beneath the thin fabric of his clothing.

"You would. You don't want this, Sweetheart," he whispered, his tone gentle.

"Stop telling me what I want, Haymitch. Stop pretending you know what's best for me."

"I can't, honey," he spoke softly. "It's my job."

Haymitch put me to bed on the couch. I remembered the sensation of his gentle hands as he covered me up and brushed the hair from my face. But most of all, I remembered the walk down the hall just minutes later as I crawled into bed beside his sleeping form, curling up next to his bare chest and sighing with content. Safe.

* * *

**thanks for all the reviews ! thoughts?**

**-meg**


	4. Part Four

**Part Four**

It was early afternoon when I woke alone, finding Haymitch at the kitchen table with a drink in hand, the back door cracked as he gazed through it, taking in the cool breeze. He was wearing the same thing he'd slept in. He hadn't even bothered to add a shirt.

I took a seat across from him, studying his profile, but he did not turn to face me.

"You have to stop that. We have to stop," he said after a moment, his voice as tense as his jaw. His fingers brushed his mouth absentmindedly.

I was silent for a long moment. "I don't see the problem."

His gaze shot in my direction. "It's not right," he looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly. His expression darkened. "I'll not be an outlet for your daddy issues, Katniss."

I winced. His words stung. He was trying to force me to see their truth in the only way he knew how, harshly.

"Since when do you suddenly have morals?" I countered, crossing my arms in a mixture of defensiveness and an attempt to hold myself together. The gesture was proof of the childishness he had just suggested was a part of me.

His gaze darkened further and he shot me a cold look as he took a sip of the drink he already had poured.

"Don't be a bitch, Katniss," he warned. And I really could be.

"Don't be an asshole."

The corner of his mouth twitched. He shook his head, and I realized I had a love hate relationship with moments like this, with the banter that revealed so many sides of him. A long moment passed between us, and it was there, in broad daylight, that I was starting to see what had been hidden in all of our nights together.

I stood, rounding on him. Haymitch watched me storm towards him and stood abruptly, turning his back on me and taking a few steps away. I watched the muscles in his bare back contract with his movements as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He took another step away, putting some distance between us.

I followed cautiously, placing a hand on his lower back carefully. Haymitch flinched beneath my touch. I tilted my head up to whisper in his ear as I inched closer to him still.

"What's wrong with the fact that I feel safe around you?" I breathed in desperation. "That I don't feel so fucking alone," I choked, gripping his shoulder tighter than I meant to. I winced as I felt him tense further. _What's wrong with the fact that I find him irresistibly sexy? _I ran my hand down his smooth skin, unable to pull away.

He took a long breath, turning on me slowly, and his eyes darkened with curious apprehension. "You shouldn't." His words were strained, his expression pained.

I held his gaze, inching closer to him, backing him into the wall. I reached up, running my fingers through his stubble, taking in his rugged appearance, the slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes that gave away his age, and the worry that had etched itself into his features. For me his age was nothing more than accumulated pain and experience much greater than my own. It was nothing more than relatable. He flinched slightly.

"I want you," I panted against his skin. Haymitch's eyes widened as he held my gaze with calculation for a long time, as if trying to decipher what was going on in my head.

"Don't tempt me," he breathed hoarsely, his voice almost a growl. We were so close that I could see every crease in his skin, feel his breath against my skin.

"I want you," I repeated, pressing myself further against him.

"Katniss," he warned darkly, visibly holding himself back. "You. Don't."

"I do."

Silence.

"I want to do things to you," he paused, tensing. "That I shouldn't." He gazed at me for a long moment, letting his words sink in, and waiting for them to scare me. And when they didn't, he fiercely took my jaw between his thumb and forefinger and inched it forward, all the while scanning my gaze for any sign of hesitation. His grip tightened on my face, his hands gripping my hair almost painfully as he leaned in, and at last his lips met mine, warm and rough, and entirely new to me.

I panted hard, taking in his scent, his touch, his yearning, clinging to his acceptance, fearful that any minute he might pull away. But his skin met mine just as fervently, his passion was rough, and needy, and just as fucked up as mine, yet he never ceased this quiet gentleness that consumed each of his movements.

I ran my hands across his chest, as one of his found my lower back and I could feel him begin to give in, slowly taking over control of our movements. I was incredibly grateful. The courage and experience I had to get us here ended somewhere around heated kissing and was quickly running out. I was treading into unknown territory where Haymitch was the expert, as he was in most things, as he had been since my first games. He had always been a guide in my life, and I needed him to take charge now more than ever.

Our lips barely parted, our breath coming in quick spurts as his lips began to move more slowly, his kisses deepening. One of his hands traveled my still clothed legs to my thighs, bringing one of my legs up against his hip, and he pulled it close, creating a tight friction at our hips, our bodies joining endlessly.

I could feel my entire body heating up as desire coursed through me. His strong and rough hands, brushed the bare skin of my neck, as his lips finally parted from mine, trailing their way down the skin of my collar bone to the top of my shirt.

With impatient hands, I reached for the hem, and Haymitch helped me tug it up and over my head, throwing it to the side with an almost animalistic force. It was then that I remembered two things: the hideous burn marks that marred my bare flesh, and the fact that I hadn't worn a bra to bead last night. I cringed at the realization, my hands moving instinctively to the burnt skin.

Haymitch's eyes darkened as he took in my bare torso, his hair falling in his face as he eyed me up. It was an incredibly sobering moment. Me, bare in the broad daylight. Haymitch, sober as he'd ever been, and taking in every inch of me. He gripped my wrist forcefully, pushing it away from my stomach.

"This," he breathed hoarsely, "doesn't bother me." I couldn't comprehend this. His hand gripped my waist, his thumb brushing the rough skin softly. His eyes held mine, and slowly I felt myself relax as he pulled me closer once more.

I blinked up at him, searching his gaze and his lips met mine again, my mind reeling. My bare chest brushed against his and a jolt of excitement shot through me, my nerves on fire. The sensation of my skin against his was electric. I could feel him begin to move us slowly backwards, further from the wall. I assumed the couch was the closest and most ideal spot and began to maneuver that way. Haymitch shook his head, gripping me hard.

"You're not losing your virginity on a couch. We'll do this right," he panted. The last word came out with an ironic twinge. Everything about this seemed wrong, but we'd both seen so much wrong neither of us could fathom how this moment could be of any consequential evil. "I'll have you in my bed," he finished, his lips finding mine again forcefully. His words made my breath hitch, his steady movements left me weak. Before I could fully comprehend what had happened, Haymitch had gripped both of my thighs forcefully, pulling me from my feet and against him. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, hanging onto him tightly and letting out an involuntary giggle.

When my feet hit the ground again, I assumed we were in his room, but I had little time to think about it, as he pushed me back onto the bed eagerly. I pulled myself up on my elbows and felt my hair fall down my back as I gazed up at him. He stood at his bedside watching me, with dark half lidded eyes. His expression was gruff as he reached for his belt. He swallowed hard, his eyes roaming my body as I watched him pull his belt slowly from the loopholes of his pants and toss it aside. It was one of the sexiest things I'd ever seen, the simple movement, the way his arms flexed and bulged as he reached for his zipper, and I found myself biting my lip, my eyes tracing every movement of his fingers, incredibly grateful he'd fallen asleep last night in blue jeans.

When at last his pants were off, and he was left in nothing but his boxers, deeming me overdressed, he joined me on his bed, hovering above me, glancing at me through his hair, a primal yearning in his eyes. My gaze traced his arms, bulging above me, his chest, his fluid and experienced movements, the sexiness he exuded, and I suddenly felt very small.

He watched me carefully but did not move to touch me. "You want this?" He asked again. It was almost as if he was reminding himself.

I grasped the waistband of my pants in response, beginning to push them down. His hand grasped mine, halting it as his eyes found mine once more. "It's been a long time since I've been with someone," he confessed, his brows creasing as the space between us became somehow more intimate. "And I'm fairly sure you've never…" he paused in contemplation. "Unless that sneaking around on the train with Peeta was—"

I shook my head. "No," I cut him off. "No."

He nodded, reaching down to cup my face gently. "And you want me," he breathed, his tone laced with uncertainty and hesitation.

"I do."

He sighed deeply, running his hands through my hair. "I'll never understand why," he whispered, before capturing my lips again expertly.

"I could say the same," I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, losing myself in the warmth and ease of his touch. Haymitch's body pressed against mine again, and I felt the defined muscles of his torso against my skin as I kicked my pants the rest of the way down, leaving us both mostly exposed. One of his hands trailed its way down my side before moving to cup one of my full breasts firmly. That's the way most of his movements were, firm, not tentative like mine. He had the touch of a man, not a boy. The touch of experience, of roughness with a gentle edge.

He ran a thumb over one of my nipples and I felt it harden instantly in response. My need for him was building with each passing second, and I shocked the both of us, by reaching for his underwear and beginning to tug at them hungrily. I could feel his smirk against my lips as he trailed them down my body to my breasts, taking one of them in his mouth and sucking on it confidently. I arched my chest into him, stifling a moan at the sensation. I hadn't known _that_ could feel this good. I grinded against him absentmindedly, craving the friction of our bodies, needing some sort of release. At last I succeeded in riding him of his last piece of clothing, and I felt him hook his finger into my panties.

My heart pounded in my chest as he slowly peeled them off of me, leaving us both entirely exposed, but his reassuring gaze calmed it, if only slightly. Haymitch surprised me by holding my gaze as he leaned down and pressed his lips to my stomach. I jumped involuntarily as I realized what he was about to do.

"Don't," I whispered, wincing as he placed a soft kiss along the scars that covered my torso.

I wanted to explain so badly the repulsion I felt but all that came out was "disgusting," in a choked whisper.

Haymitch's actions eased, brows furrowed, jaw locked as he crawled back up my body to bite my ear gently before whispering, "beautiful."

I shivered, wrapping my arms around his neck tightly as I caught his lips in mine again. His hands moved fluidly and expertly, and my panties were gone, leaving us both bare, pressed together in a way I never imagined, and nothing had ever felt more right.

I could feel how hard he was against me, felt the size of him without even having to look, and I realized I was trembling without even being conscious of the fact. I'd been through war, stared death in the face countless times, and here I was, a little girl, trembling beneath Haymitch of all people. Despite our hostility towards each other, I knew he would never hurt me.

I blinked. _The girl on fire doesn't tremble, she does not cry. _

His forehead met mine, and he exhaled deeply, grabbing my hand tightly in a shocking and uncharacteristic gesture. "I won't hurt you, Sweetheart," he whispered with a softness I didn't know he possessed.

"I know," I breathed, kissing him for a distraction.

His hand trailed my body, lighting the fire within me once more, and as he cupped my breast in his hand, it burned brighter than before.

"I want you," I repeated my earlier words, relaxing and reassuring not only him but myself. And I did, I really did.

His confident hands found their way between my legs and I gasped at the sudden contact, arching into him unexpectedly. I'd never been touched _there, _and it felt like magic.

His fingers moved slowly but expertly, exploring and heightening my arousal. I gasped loudly against him, gripping his shoulder tightly.

I could feel Haymitch's self-assured smirk against me and it almost seemed as though he was holding back a chuckle. _Arrogant bastard_; but as he pushed a finger inside of me smoothly, I realized he had every right to be, because in this area, he was undeniable the expert, and more my mentor than he'd ever really been.

I stretched around him, locking a leg around his waist and pushing him against me, needing more.

"Slow down, Sweetheart," he urged gently.

"I can't," I admitted, wanting so badly to take charge, but knowing it was best to allow him to take the lead.

As my need grew, my movements became more primal, rougher, and his firm response, his eager movements only fueled my desire and heightened my pleasure.

He took my lip between his teeth, biting it hard as he pushed another finger inside of me, stretching me further only slightly painfully.

"I need you," I breathed, running my hands along his muscular lower back, and lower still, rocking my hips into his. I felt him hiss at the contact, and saw him wince as he held back the way he had been the whole time.

"You're not ready," he countered, cupping my cheek as he gritted his teeth.

"I can handle it."

He shook his head sternly. I narrowed my eyebrows at him in annoyance. I needed release, now.

"You know how much I can handle," I argued in frustration, reaching between his legs and gripping him firmly in a moment of confident determination.

His eyes closed tightly as he swallowed hard, letting out a growl as I twisted his length in my hand, pushing my chest into his. But still, he held off.

I pulled harder on his length, before leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "Haymitch," I warned. "Fuck me."

His eyes darkened considerably, any hesitation gone, as that arrogant smirk I was so familiar with returned. "So eager," he breathed, raising an eyebrow.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "There's that fire I love," he said, trailing one of his hands down my side to cup my behind and pull me closer to him.

I bit my lip in anticipation, fisting one of my breasts subconsciously as I watched him sit up slightly, grasping himself as he met my gaze steadily. There was something incredibly sexy about the way his hair fell in his face, framing his perfect jawline as he positioned himself against me, rubbing his tip against my sensitive skin in a teasing gesture. I felt my eyes close in pleasure as I drew one of my arms above my head.

Haymitch used one of his strong arms to pin it to the bed, leaning over me as he used his other hand to guide himself inside of me, quickly and swiftly. He held my arm as tightly as my gaze, bracing us both. Fast like a Band-Aid. The pain was quick, sharp and deep.

I cringed, and he stilled, letting me adjust. We stayed like that for a while, and I wondered how hard it was for him to restrain himself in such a way, but when I opened my eyes again, his were patient. After a moment, I nodded, and he captured my lips softly as a distraction before he began moving very slowly within me.

The pain lessened, and one of his hands moved between my legs, heightening my pleasure considerably.

"Are you okay, Sweetheart?" he whispered.

"More than okay. Harder," I begged, needing more of him. After a few minutes I couldn't restrain myself any longer and pushed on his chest until I managed to make him fall back on the bed beside me, and I swung myself on top of him straddling him.

Haymitch blinked up at me in surprise, before a wry smile crossed his face, and he took in the sight of me straddling him, my hair falling around us, my breasts in his face.

"Dammit, woman," he breathed, his eyes full of hunger.

I impaled myself onto him more fully, resting my hands on his chest for support, and Haymitch's hands found my backside, cupping it forcefully. I rocked myself against him violently, unable to hold back from the building pleasure. I felt his lips come up and grasp one of my breasts roughly in his mouth, sucking, biting and pulling on the lose flesh almost painfully and it nearly sent me over the edge.

"Haymitch," I panted, lifting myself up and pushing myself back down over and over.

"Sweetheart?" He asked sarcastically through a groan, tossing his head back slightly as he flexed his hips to meet my motions.

"I need…" I panted, unable to think.

"I know," he said, through gritted teeth, slamming himself into me and matching my fierce pace. I felt myself begin to collapse against him, my chest hitting his, our lips brushing as he took over the work and I became weak.

The pressure within me built and built, and I grinded against him more aggressively until I felt myself begin to lose control. Haymitch gripped my waist firmly, throwing me on the bed beneath him as he took over again, thrusting himself into me again and again until I came undone completely, clenching around him with a moan as I reached my climax.

He kept at his violent pace, allowing me to fully ride out my orgasm and granted himself his release as I felt him lose control and pull out at the last second, gripping himself and following me in his release.

Panting, I reached over and grasped him, helping him finish, mesmerized as I watched him come down from his high, a high that I had given him. Haymitch collapsed beside me, laying on his back and puling me onto his chest tightly with one strong arm as we both attempted to catch our breath.

I felt my eyes growing heavy, my energy expended. The pain that remained was a dull ache within me, but it was a welcome ache, nothing like pain I had known before.

"Christ," Haymitch panted, pulling me close and placing a distracted kiss on my damp forehead. I pressed myself against him, snuggling up to him despite the heat our bodies were radiating. He glanced down at me curled against him, but said nothing, only held me tighter, wrapping both arms around me. I couldn't say how long it took us to drift to sleep wordlessly, but I couldn't remember ever resting so peacefully in my life, whether in my small bed in District 12, the luxuries of the Capitol, or even in Peeta's arms—nothing had compared to the way I felt wrapped up in Haymitch. Like we were two pieces of one very damaged puzzle.


End file.
